


End of a Day

by Nina (ninamazing), ninamazing



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-01-26
Updated: 2009-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-06 13:24:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninamazing/pseuds/Nina, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninamazing/pseuds/ninamazing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>He's gazing at her with affection, the way a husband is supposed to look at his wife, and she's grateful all over again for everything he is.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	End of a Day

It's been another rough day. Helo's gone for fourteen-hour shifts as _Galactica_'s tactical officer, but she — the Cylon — has nothing to do. They've imprisoned her, assaulted her, nearly executed her husband, and actually executed her baby, while in return she's politely saved all their lives; but they're still not sure if they can trust her. She left once, midmorning, to borrow a book from Admiral Adama's quarters, but the soldiers in the corridors gave her ugly stares and she dashed back. For the rest of the day she hasn't gone out again, not for so much as a slurp of water from the bathroom fountain.

She settles for doing a few hundred crunches, a few dozen push-ups, and then she just stares at the metal ceiling, waiting for her husband. Something creaks in the pipes above her head; a muffled voice shouts in the hall. And the keypad of their door lock beeps outside.

Always, she knows a moment of panic — _it's marines, one of the Eights out there has done something and I'm back in the brig_ — but today the hatch rattles open and it's him. It's Karl.

She's kissing him, her arms around his neck, before he's even got the door closed completely. Frak the hall traffic. Her husband tastes like warmth and belonging and she's taking it while she can.

"Welcome home," she says when she stops for breath, and smiles up at him. He's gazing at her with affection, the way a husband is supposed to look at his wife, and she's grateful all over again for everything he is.

"Not too tired, I hope," she tells him, with her fingers tugging a wide V at the open flap of his jacket. In response he leans to kiss her again and hoists her into his arms. His hold is, as always, firm; she crosses her ankles at his lower back, opens her teeth against the strap of muscle at his neck, and thinks to herself _rough day, rough night_.

He's getting smoother and smoother, with practice, at lowering her to the bed. Their rack is tiny, at least where her six-foot-and-change husband is concerned, but Helo rarely complains.

"Not tired today," he murmurs, steepled above her, and grins. She arches up and against him to slip his jacket over his shoulders. As he shifts his weight to shrug out of his many shirts, she feels every hot inch of him through the loose fabric of her leggings. She pulls his bare arms to her waist, and his fingertips drag up the naked skin of her sides. She gasps, yanks off her hoodie; then they're chest-to-chest, panting into each other's mouths, kissing like they did at the end of the world. Or on their wedding night; the first day she was allowed a private room; the time he snuck a bottle of whiskey from a party at the mess and brought it to her with the gleam of victory in his eyes.

In another two counts his pants are off and she's naked, too, in front of him. He's the only one who seems to understand that it means the same thing to her as it would to any human: vulnerability, trust. Desire.

"I'm sorry you have to stay here alone all day," he whispers, and tongues her nipple.

"Not — your fault," she answers breathlessly, and twines her fingers through his lengthening hair.

"Not yours either," he reminds her, and his teeth close gently on the skin of her breast. She tries to keep her moan low, so no one will hear the good lieutenant making love to his toaster bride. It would only give them worse things to mutter as she passed.

He licks his way down. "We're working on it," he says, propping his chin up briefly on her belly, and she giggles at the tickle of his words. He presses his lips fondly to her skin, and goes lower.

His mouth between her legs, his head in her curls, is liquid absolution. She can sense her nerves splintering, as real as anything, and she can feel him tasting it as she gives herself over to emotion. This can't just be a programmed response to specific stimuli — she would do this only for Karl, would reach out to grip only Karl's hands as he lapped at her body. She stammers out his name.

He stops. "Now?"

"I've had fourteen hours to think about it," she tells him, and sits up. He lets out a playful growl and pulls her into his lap.

For a moment she just looks in his eyes, holding his cheeks between her hands. And then she drops her head to watch as she takes him lightly in her fingers, grazing and then stroking, stroking and then holding, guiding. His groan breezes over the top of her ear as she slides over him, as she grips him inside of her. She holds fast to his shoulders, digs her heels in behind him, and thrusts hard.

His palms are soon in the hollow of her tailbone, supporting her as she leans back and grinds against him. She shutters her eyelids and bites her lip to add to the sensation. The intensity begins to overwhelm her: his hands, his hardness, his love; the way she's both caught and free in the loop of his arms. There's a whirlpool happening at the juncture of their bodies, and she's dizzy from the swirl of their blood in its cyclical stream.

"Sharon," he says, a warning — _I'm close_ — but before his mouth closes she is crooning out loud, straining against his linked fingers and forgetting her resolve to be soundless. He grunts, loud too, and then she is lost in the flood.

Sometime during the wash of ardor Helo has gathered her close, and she dips her nose back and forth against the sweaty curves above his collarbone. He laughs softly, and it ripples through her.

"Better?" he asks, rubbing her back, and she lifts her head to place a kiss against his smile.

If this is all she'll ever get, it's enough.


End file.
